


Idly Falling In Love

by iamavacado



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling In Love, Gen, M/M, Realization, first work in the fandom, random idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: When do you suppose were the moments Crowley and Aziraphel fell in love with each other?





	Idly Falling In Love

The two were in Aziraphale’s bookshop, some time after the sun had put on its pajamas and turned in for the night. There were lit candles strewn about the room, filling it with a cinnamon scent--gifts from Crowley.

Crowley was draped over a chair a few feet away from Aziraphale. His head was fallen back and lying limp, inches from a small radio that played music at a quiet volume. Every now and then, he hummed along to the lyrics. The black rimmed glasses were lying next to it, thankful to be having a break. It had been muggy as all Hell lately, which lent itself to a bit more face sweat than usual. Crowley had even ditched his jacket, which sat in a crumpled heap on the wooden floor next to him. 

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk (with _his_ jacket hanging on a hook near the front door). He was 45 minutes into a book, with a half empty glass of lemonade next to him. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tie sat undone around his neck as he read. Every now and then, he would catch himself glancing over at Crowley and flashing a smile, which would be promptly returned, before turning a page. Neither of them spoke, but neither of them had to. It was simply enough for them to be in each other’s company. 

A few minutes later, however, Crowley broke the quiet with a question.

“So what was it for you then?”

Aziraphale was reading with his spectacles on--neat little things. However, they had a habit of sliding down his face, which they had decided to do just then. And Aziraphale had reached up to push them back up his nose right as Crowley had asked that question. He brought his hand back from his face only a few inches, hands half poised to push them up his nose once again, should they get the notion to slide back down. 

“What?” asked Aziraphale, turning his head towards Crowley. 

Crowley was still draped over the chair, but his head was up and looking at Aziraphale. He was wearing a look that couldn’t quite be placed. There was a small smile on his face. “Come on. What was it?” he repeated, as if he was trying to spark up the rest of a conversation that started hours before. 

Aziraphale reached and placed a bookmark in his page, shutting it gently. He shifted himself in his chair to better face Crowley. “What exactly are you talking about, Crowley?”

Crowley lowered his head and made a face at Aziraphale. It was a face he often used, with his lips pursed and pushed out, eyes half lidded, one eyebrow raised. There was a pause as he gave this look to Aziraphale, expecting an answer. When he didn’t get one, Crowley grumbled and rolled his eyes. He sat up, legs crossed, one arm hooked over the back of his chair. “I’ll tell you what it was for me,” he said. As he spoke, his eyes grew dreamy, longing, and his lips spread into a fond smile. “Remember the day we met?”

Aziraphale took his spectacles off and folded them closed, setting them on top of the book. He searched briefly in his memory, and the day came up easily. “Yes,” he said, voice still tinged with confusion. 

“Do you remember up on the wall? With Adam and Eve, and the whole-- well I had just done the, well you know, the whole snake bit, with the--” he wiggled his fingers at Aziraphale and made a demonstrative hiss-- “and we got to talking. After we introduced ourselves.’

“Yes, I remember.” 

“Well.” Crowley reached up a hand and wiped the sweat off his forehead, and then wiped his palm on his shirt, glancing briefly at his hand with disgust. “I had asked about your flaming sword, and you said you gave it away.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips together at the unfortunate memory. Given a second chance, he probably would have kept it, now that its absence seemed to cause him so much grief. “I remember quite well.”

Crowley laughed--a short, quick laugh. “You were so nervous. Wringing your hands together and giving all these excuses and everything. You thought you’d really mucked it up, didn’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“When you told me was when. When you said that you gave it away. The sword I mean--when you gave the sword away. Then.” Crowely waved his hand once, and then let it fall into his lap. He looked satisfied with himself. Then, he let what he had said sink in for just a moment before saying, “Now, what about you?”

Aziraphale tilted his head at Crowley. “Crowely, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh for sake’s--” Crowley threw his head back and groaned, quite dramatically-- “Do I have to spell it out for you angel?”

“I-- well, I--” Aziraphale stuttered, trying to search for something to say that would relate even remotely to what Crowley was saying. But for some reason, he just kept coming up short. He was clueless. 

Crowley seemed to realize this. He uncrossed his legs and sat up straight in his chair. “When you realized you were in love with me, Aziraphale!” he said, nearly exasperated. 

Immediately, Aziraphale perked up in his seat. He clasped his hands in his lap and smiled. “Oh! Yes, of course! Well, it was quite a bit later than yours, actually.” He chuckled lightly. “I hadn’t realized it had been that long for you,” he added teasingly.

Crowely tried to hide the smile that crept along his face. 

“I had toyed with the idea for years, you see,” Aziraphale explained, “I was never quite sure, I suppose. Well- I was sure, but I don’t think I was sure that I was sure, if that makes any bit of sense.”

“It does,” said Crowley. It didn’t.

“I tried to put it out of my mind, I would say. But it always came back.” He reached over and took a sip of his lemonade. The ice had melted long ago, which left it tasting watered down. The carbonation had long since lost its fizz too. That was all right though. It was still sweet enough. “But the night of the church, I would say, was when I knew for _sure.”_

“With those nazi fellows?”

“Precisely!” Aziraphale’s smile grew as he spoke, absorbing himself in the memory. “Oh, I was so worried about those books after the bomb had gone off, and you just-- had them! And you were so casual about it, and you handed them to me and just walked off, and left me holding them, and I was-- I was sure that was the moment.”

Crowley hummed. “Really?” At first, he was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t earlier. But as he considered, he smiled. Of course it would have something to do with books, wouldn’t it? It fit Aziraphale, somehow. “Makes sense.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Does it?” Crowely nodded. Aziraphale settled into his seat better. “Good.”

They smiled at each other briefly. Both smiles were filled with something fond. It was hard to describe. Think about knowing somebody for six thousand years. You’d have six thousand reasons to be in love with them, but you could only communicate through smiles. So you try to merge six thousand smiles into one. That was what their smiles looked like. 

Then, wordlessly, they went back to what they were doing. Aziraphael opened his book. Crowley picked up the radio. As if nothing had interrupted them in the first place. 

As if it were meant to be this way all along. 

And, of course, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment?


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